Enemy's Heartstrings
by AGriffinWriter
Summary: Season 2 AU: After losing his soul in the night of passion with Buffy, Angelus brutally tortures wheelchair-bound Spike, who sees no alternative but to seek sanctuary with the Slayer and her pals. Coddling the heart-broken Big Bad isn't something that ever crossed Buffy's radar, but despite her resistance, feelings start to develop. M for torture, violence, smut, mild language
1. Prologue: One Step Away

**Enemy's Heartstrings**

_By AGriffinWriter_

Season 2 AU: After losing his soul in the night of passion with Buffy, Angelus brutally tortures wheelchair-bound Spike, who sees no alternative but to seek sanctuary with the Slayer and her pals. Coddling the heart-broken Big Bad isn't something that ever crossed Buffy's radar, but despite her resistance, feelings start to develop. M for graphic torture, violence, vampire smut, mild language.

**All direct quotes from ****_Buffy the Vampire Slayer_**** belong to their respective owners. For this fic, scenes and dialogue from season two are incorporated. However, this story is all mine.**

_Author's notes: Lyrics from "Stupid Thing" by Nickel, sung at the Bronze during "School Hard"._

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Prologue: One Step Away

_/ I… did a stupid thing last night  
I called you. A moment of weakness  
No, not a moment  
More like three months of weakness  
I'm one step away… from crashing to my knees  
One step away… from spilling my guts to you /_

The Slayer.

Fire licks through his veins at the first sight of her. Just a girl… a fleck of pink paint on her cheek, a French textbook abandoned on the table she and her friends just vacated… and yet she dances like a woman, seductive, enticing… enough to make his mouth dry out and his unneeded breath hitch in his throat.

_/ I'm one step away… from crashing to my knees  
One step away… from spilling my guts to you /_

Spike swallows hard, intoxicated, thrown off his game by this Slayer… and though he'd vowed to himself that he'd keep his distance, he has to see her in action. He prowls around the exterior of the dance floor until he's beside the brutish oaf acting as his reluctant accomplice for the evening.

"Go get something to eat."

_/ I… did a stupid thing last night  
I called you. I'm doing alright.  
No, don't feel sorry for me.  
Really, I'm alright.  
I'm one step away… from crashing to my knees  
One step away… from spilling my guts to you /_

Closer… closer… five more steps and he could touch her himself. And his jeans tighten at the thought, of skulking just those last few feet, crossing between the Slayer and her two companions, the muddy-haired boy and redheaded girl… of steering her off by himself, his hands on her warm, gyrating waist… her back to his chest and his lips at her throat.

_/ One step away… from crashing to my knees  
One step away… from spilling my guts to you /_

"Where's the phone?" he says loudly, so near to the Slayer that he can imagine his breath ghosting across the back of her neck with every word. "I need to call the police. There's some big guy out there trying to bite someone."

She turns, blonde hair swishing around her little heart shaped face, then races for the alley outside the excuse for a pub. Spike rushes to another exit, desperate to watch.

"Slayer!" growls the ugly sidekick vamp, his hands on the throat of some terrified female bystander.

"Slay-ee," the Slayer retorts, confidence in her stance.

And then she keeps dancing, every punch and block and swerve elegant in their own way. Spike can't take his eyes off the girl, holding her own against the creature twice her size.

"I don't need to wait for Saint Vigeous," the giant vampire snarls, gaining the upper hand for only a moment, the Slayer on the pavement at his feet. "You're mine."

But then she's dancing again, upright in a moment, a stake tossed to her from one of her friends.

"Spike, gimme a hand!"

The girl's head twirls at the brute's words, and Spike can almost see his own name embedded in her mind, a thought that makes him even more eager.

One second later, with a stab of her stake, his companion is a flurry of dust on the alley concrete.

_Run, mate… run now… don't show yourself… oh, bollocks…_

He doesn't even pretend to listen to the voice of warning inside his skull. Stepping out from the shadows, he applauds slowly, his electric blue eyes never leaving the spitfire blonde.

"Nice work, luv."

"Who are you?" asks the Slayer, wary, perhaps a little confused.

Spike can't help but tease. "You'll find out on Saturday."

Her eyes laugh at him. "What happens on Saturday?"

"I kill you."

He smiles, slinking back into the concealing darkness before she has time to do anything but blink curiously at him. And then, as he races through the dark alleys, his brain seems to switch back on. He reflects as he pelts through the nearly empty streets that it is so… so _wrong_ that a little girl should make him ache with so much longing. Little girls were Angelus's thing. His grandsire liked them young and chaste – so he could destroy them – or experienced and slutty – so they could teach him devilish new tricks.

But Spike doesn't have a 'thing', a 'type'. He has the one. Drusilla, his princess. He is her slave, sex toy, provider, interpreter… she owns him, body and heart, forever.

And yet… sometimes… in those rare moments when she's deeply asleep, and her claim on him is weakest, he ponders how very unfair it all is – that a century ago she set her sire's mark on him like a minion, not a true lover. An unforgiving reminder that she is bound eternally and wholeheartedly to Angelus, no matter how many years have passed since they last saw him.

Still, he is Dru's. He loves her, worships her with his blood and his body.

So why does the Slayer make him all kinds of hungry?

_/ One step away… from crashing to my knees  
One step away from spilling my guts to you  
One step away… from crashing to my knees  
One step away from spilling my guts to you /_

_To be continued..._

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_Author's notes: Yeah, I know I should be working on "Five Words"… but I so wanted to give this to you, gentle readers. ;) Please review and let me know if this story idea intrigues you._


	2. Chapter 1: Sire

**Enemy's Heartstrings**

_By AGriffinWriter_

Season 2 AU: After losing his soul in the night of passion with Buffy, Angelus brutally tortures wheelchair-bound Spike, who sees no alternative but to seek sanctuary with the Slayer and her pals. Coddling the heart-broken Big Bad isn't something that ever crossed Buffy's radar, but despite her resistance, feelings start to develop. M for graphic torture, violence, vampire smut, mild language.

**All direct quotes from ****_Buffy the Vampire Slayer_**** belong to their respective owners. For this fic, scenes and dialogue from season two are incorporated. However, this story is all mine.**

_Author's notes: Thank you randyzoopurple, xxtheTwistedSisterxx, Jeremy Shane, gottaloveva, ValerieStrong, Hercules8, JacktheRipperandCupcakes, Redglade, and for reviewing!_

_Warning: some Spike/Dru lovey-dovey in this chapter. We've a long way to go to get to Spuffy. Lyrics from "Unworthy of Your Love", from the play _Assassins._ If you'd like to know what this version sounds like (rather than the creepier original), search 'assassins John Barrowman' on youtube. You're welcome. (:_

* * *

Chapter 1: Sire

Dawn is approaching by the time Spike slips alone back into the factory on the edge of town, his attack on the school a bloody disaster. The vampires who fled in pursuit of Angel – _traitorous, housebroken pillock! _– must have returned hours ago and reported his failure to the boy they revere like a god.

Despite the evening's overall failure, Spike's blood is singing, remembering his fight with this new Slayer. For twenty years now, since that Slayer he'd battled in New York, his unlife had been fairly boring… Lure unsuspecting prey, Drink unsuspecting prey, Keep Drusilla from wanderin' into somethin' she couldn't handle, Repeat ad infinitum. Not since the Slayer on the subway had he faced a challenge like the blonde in the little green top and white skirt that made him feel far manlier than any external weapons. He'd told her he'd make it quick… but honestly, the moment her first punch had flown at him, he'd instantly wanted their brawl to last all through the night. She'd made _him_ get winded, and he didn't even have to breathe!

And he'd known as he had raised the two-by-four over her that he'd be a fool to kill her tonight… when he could just clock the feisty bint in the head and let her carry on to fight another day. But, just his luck, the Slayer's _mother_ had turned up outta nowhere and brained him with a soddin' axe. Like daughter, like mum. So he'd fled, wandered the streets until his high from the fight had dissipated.

Limping slightly, he slips through the side door into the factory, barely avoiding the streams of morning sunlight. As soon as he enters, his princess wafts toward him, her head tilting as she surveys him.

"Spike… did she hurt you?" Drusilla whispers, her ethereal voice a mix of concern and delight. She always takes pleasure in his pain; it's standard procedure for vampires, but one that Spike still – even after a century – occasionally struggles with.

"It was close, baby," he sighs, hanging his head.

"Aww… come here."

Drusilla draws him close, lays the side of his face on her shoulder, and pets his head, soft shushing noises emanating from her lips.

"A Slayer with _family_ and _friends_. That sure as hell wasn't in the brochure," he mutters.

"You'll kill her… and then we'll have a nice party."

Spike's surly gaze falls on the child sitting atop his throne of boxes and old tires. The boy and his numerous flunkies all glower at Spike, no doubt ready to berate him for his failure to keep his word and ice the Slayer.

"Yeah, a party," sighs Spike, responding to Dru at last.

"With streamers, and songs," she giggles, still stroking his hair, her breath tickling his nose.

"How's the _Annoying_ One?" he scoffs, returning the boy's scowl from across the room.

"He doesn't want to play," Drusilla pouts.

"Figures." Raising his head from his lover's shoulder, Spike gives a grim shrug. "Well… s'pose I'd better go make nice."

Warily watching the Anointed One's groupies, Spike crosses the half-dozen steps necessary to stand in front of the boy's makeshift throne, and then, his bones practically grating, he sweeps his duster coattails back and begrudgingly goes down on one knee.

"You failed," the overgrown toddler sulks.

"I, uh… I offer penance," says Spike through a forced smile.

"Penance?" snarls the most vocal of the Anointed One's worshipers. "You should lay down your life! Our numbers are depleated. The Feast of Saint Vigeous has been ruined by your impatience!"

"It was… rash… and, if I had to do it all over again…" Spike stands with a rippling chuckle, defiant and powerful. "Who am I kidding?! I'd do it all _exactly_ the same, only I'd do _THIS_ first!"

He yanks the child off the pile of boxes, swings the little git over his shoulder, and backhands the only worshiper who dares to stand in his way. In a few quick strides Spike reaches the dangling cage, and he shoves the squealing boy inside, slamming the gate shut. Drusilla giggles and claps her hands, caught up in her lover's frenzied movements.

"From now on," shouts Spike, yanking on the pulley-attached chain to rapidly lift the cage toward a patch of sunlight near the ceiling, "We're gonna have a little less _ritual_ and a little more _fun_ around here!"

Just shy of the sunbeam, the Anointed One gazes down at Spike, terror in the child's beady eyes. Spike makes eye-contact with the boy, then gives the chain one more mighty tug. The Anointed One screams as the cage enters fully into the golden sunlight.

Spike ties off the chain, waits until the lingering screams and the sizzling fade away, and then offers a hand to his princess.

"Let's see what's on TV," he smirks, taking her hand and strolling toward the stairs. Stepping around the flunky he'd knocked unconscious, they meander down to their dungeon suite, Spike's arms winding around his beloved.

"They will follow you now," Drusilla sighs. "You've done away with their nasty little prince… and now we shall be king and queen. And no one will speak out of turn."

"That's right, luv," grins Spike. "Bunch of idiots, the lot, but if they're workin' for me, then you'll want for nothing."

"I think… I should like a little bitty bird… to sing for me and eat little seeds from my hand. Will you sing for me, my Spike?"

"In a bit, my dark goddess."

Grinning, he closes the door of their room, lights a couple of candles, and flicks the TV off instead of switching to find a channel that doesn't display static. Letting his leather duster slink off his shoulders to the floor, he steps to Drusilla's side and kisses down her pale cheek.

"When shall you kill the Slayer?" asks Dru eagerly while her hands weave their way underneath his red silk shirt, nails stroking his chest.

"Soon, pet."

"You _must_ kill her." Her dark eyes take on that vacant look as the vision realm intrudes upon her conscious. "Ashes… she wants to turn you to ashes, my Spike. Swirls of sunlight… all light inside where it should be dark… You mustn't let her touch you. You will taste of ashes."

"I know, baby," he sighs, his lips still moving softly against her cheek and down to her jaw. "Let's not talk 'bout the Slayer right now, a'right?" _Already spent most of the night reassurin' myself that the only kind of 'hot an' bothered' I got durin' that fight was on account of… just that. The Fight. Slayer an' vamp, best way it's ever supposed to go down. Had nothin' at all to do with the scrappy high school bint nearly flashin' her delicates every time she kicked me._

Her eyes once more on the present, Drusilla tugs at the collar of his overshirt until it slips off, joining her gossamer shawl on the floor beside their bed. Spike works his belt free of his jeans, adds it to the growing pile of shed clothes, and lifts his arms so she can strip his dark grey t-shirt over his head.

"What a pretty white knight I made," she whispers, pride and fondness in her voice as her hands trace the angles of his chest muscles. Beaming, he lifts her up in his arms and swings her around with one _swish_ of her long dress, before lowering her to their bed and lifting the hem of her skirt up to her knees.

"Pretty William…" Drusilla giggles, lying back against the pillows. "Spinning like stars…"

"Dru…" Spike's baritone becomes a moan. "My Dru…"

And he moves without thinking. As one hand tangles in her ebony locks and the other sweeps tenderly over her thigh, Spike lowers his mouth to her cold throat and kisses the faint silver scar, the everlasting brand of her sire's fangs.

"Bad dog!"

Immediately, she swats his head away, her face seemingly caught between a sullen pout and a scowl of rage. "Mustn't touch! Little Willy may not touch Daddy's princess. Bad! Bad dog!"

Spike shrinks back, ashamed, his mind and body dissuaded from any passion the moment she had mentioned her precious 'Daddy'.

"I'm sorry… Drusilla, I won't do it again. Please…"

She continues scowling, her lower lip jutting out and her brows drawn together almost enough to form her enchantingly horrific vampire ridges.

"I shall have to bind your eyes and turn your back, like naughty Miss Edith. You shall have no cakes. Bad little Willy."

"I'm sorry… Luv, I'm sorry. I'm a terrible boy. Forgive me, my sweet?"

She gives his hesitant request no response, just sits up straighter and smoothes down her skirts over her long, slim legs, a prim and proper lady. Rejected, Spike flops over onto his back on the other side of the bed, sticking his arms behind his head.

"So… how was the rest of that nummy bint I brought 'round for you? Did you get enough to eat? I could go fetch you another if you'd like."

Dru smiles wickedly, and when she speaks, the enmity of a moment ago seems completely gone from her voice.

"She is part of our little family now, dear Willy."

"What?" he demands, sitting back up with a sharp crunch of his abs. "You mean to say you sired the wench?" _Oh god, please no… not another vagabond fledge I've got to run out and stake before it leads a pitchfork-wielding mob right to our doorstep. Bloody Prague all over again._

Drusilla nods, lifting up her wrist to show a fresh cut on her pearl-colored skin.

"Baby!" Dipping his head, Spike tongues the half-sealed wound, coating it in the healing balm of his saliva before he turns her hand over and slits his own wrist with the tip of one of her sharp fingernails. "Here, luv. Drink. Please…"

He guides her mouth to his crimson-dribbling wrist, and her little teeth sink into his flesh with a soft sigh, her tongue lapping at his offered lifeblood. He is her favorite treat, his submission further attesting to his status as her minion.

"Princess, you're much too weak to be turnin' any of the kibbles," he chides as she sips at his wrist, her white cheeks contracting with each draw. "Promise me, luv. No more fledglings until you're good and well. You must rest."

Drusilla makes a noncommittal shrug, still swallowing down delicate mouthfuls of his scarlet essence. When her thirst is quenched, she leans back against the pillows, and Spike seals his own gash with a flick of his tongue. He guides an arm around her shoulders and tucks her against his side, her dark hair splaying over his bare chest.

"What shall I sing for you then, my love?"

She tilts her head, tapping two fingertips against his chiseled stomach while she ponders. "Sing… sing the pretty song about wind and water… and fire and poison…"

Her eyes close as she tries to remember exactly which song she's thinking of, but Spike knows immediately. It's one of her favorites, the tone so different from the rock ballads he often hums – tunes from the Ramones, or the Rolling Stones, or his other punk preferences.

"Yes, pet," he murmurs, finally aware of his two-fold tiredness – his energy tapped from last night's fight, and now his blood siphoned in the care of his insane goddess. Gently stroking her back, he whispers the tune into the candlelit room.

"_I am… nothing. You are… wind and water and sky. Darlin'… tell me darlin', how I can earn your love. I would swim oceans, I would move mountains, I would do anything for you. What do you want me to do? I am unworthy of your love, darlin', darlin'. Let me prove worthy of your love. Tell me how I can earn your love. Set me free. How can I turn your love to me?"_

He pauses, the song's lyrics echoed by the silent cry of his heart.

"Dru?"

"There's more left. You've stopped before you were told," she scolds him. "Sing the rest, pretty William."

"I… I love you, Drusilla."

She smiles, lifts her hand, and pats his nose with the pad of one slender finger. "Yes. You must love me. I'm a princess."

Swallowing down his heartache, Spike continues the melody, watching the figure beside him become motionless in her sleep, like some magnificent ice sculpture nestled against his room-temperature form.

"_I am… nothing. You are… wind and devil and god, darlin'. Take my blood and my body for your love. Let me feel fire, let me drink poison. Tell me to tear my heart in two… if that's what you want me to do. I am unworthy of your love, darlin', darlin'. I have done nothing for your love. Let me be worthy of your love, set me free."_

His honeyed tune has lulled her by now, but he continues to the end, suspecting that even unconsciousness wouldn't stop her from correcting his premature silence.

"_I am unworthy of your love, darlin', darlin'. Let me prove worthy of your love. I'll find a way to earn your love, wait and see… then you will turn your love to me. Your love… to me…_"

* * *

"FINALLY!"

Cordelia's shout jolts Willow awake, and she slips off the overturned bucket she'd been sitting on for nearly twelve hours. The door to the utility closet scrapes open, revealing the extremely relieved faces of Giles, Xander, and Buffy.

"Thank god!" the cheerleader continues, shoving her way past their rescuers and out into the hallway of the high school. "What happened? Did anybody die? Please tell me this Spike guy killed Snider!"

"Wow," says Xander in disbelief. "I never thought the day would come when you and I had exactly the same amount of hate for the same person."

"No, Spike didn't kill Snider," Buffy answers as she helps Willow out of the cramped janitorial room. "Two deaths, both parents. Spike and his goons got away."

"But thankfully, it seems likely his numbers were depleted enough to prevent this Spike fellow and his followers from trying anything on the Night of Saint Vigeous," comments Giles, his encouragement not spreading to any of the exhausted young people.

"Asprin?" Willow mumbles beseechingly.

"Right on it."

Leaving the redhead and Cordy in the care of her other friends, Buffy heads back up the hall toward the library and the first aid kit she knows Giles keeps under his desk, just for occasions such as these.

The fight with Spike had been closer than she wanted to admit to anyone. He had seemed to almost anticipate her moves – no doubt because he had faced Slayers before, and killed them. She should never have put down the fire axe, never let herself be goaded into dropping her weapon. After all, it's not like she had anything to prove to the blond menace with his flashing golden eyes and the teasing way he'd run his hand down his chest.

Yet, the flip side of the coin was that her tussle with Spike had also been one of the most… _fun_ encounters with a vampire she'd ever experienced. There was something exciting and almost rapturous about a good fight, when her adrenaline-fueled muscles crossed that line from warm into hot, and sweat peppered her skin, and her conscious brain gave way to instinct.

He was a true challenge, a chance to test her limits and really evaluate whether she'd matured as a fighter over the past year. She had something to prove to herself, and Spike was just… convenient.

_To be continued…_

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_Author's notes: Merry Christmas (or other December holiday you may be celebrating). I hope you all have the chance to enjoy time with friends & family and eat many delicious things. Please leave a review for me, like a little stocking stuffer!_


	3. Chapter 3: Patience

**Enemy's Heartstrings**

_By AGriffinWriter_

Season 2 AU: After losing his soul in the night of passion with Buffy, Angelus brutally tortures wheelchair-bound Spike, who sees no alternative but to seek sanctuary with the Slayer and her pals. Coddling the heart-broken Big Bad isn't something that ever crossed Buffy's radar, but despite her resistance, feelings start to develop. M for graphic torture, violence, vampire smut, mild language.

**All direct quotes from ****_Buffy the Vampire Slayer_**** belong to their respective owners. For this fic, scenes and dialogue from season two are incorporated. However, this story is all mine.**

_Author's notes: Thank you Hercules8, Nat-Nat360, and Spike'sGirl for reviewing! Even though this is technically 'chapter 2', I'm re-numbering from here out because I know it'll drive me crazy to have the fanfic chapter numbers different from the posted numbers (due to the prologue being 'chapter 1'). Ugh, technology._

_Speaking of technology... I gave in to the Tumblr monster after years of resisting. My url is: nashvillevampslayer. I'll occasionally post my own pics and sneak peeks relating to my fics, plus a lot of Spuffy reblogging. ;)_

* * *

Chapter 3: Patience

On the Night of Saint Vigeous – despite the whole blood-rage plan being scrapped – Spike gives Dru the slip, creeps around the obnoxious remnants of the Anointed One's lackeys, and makes it to his car without being spotted. All he needs is a hint of a whisper in the Sunnydale underground to find out where the Slayer is, and the barkeep in a shabby demon-friendly joint called Willy's Bar is all too happy to oblige him. Of course, where else would she be but that same dive where he'd first laid eyes on her, relaxing the night away with soft drinks and dancing?

This time he's much more cautious, skulking in the very back of the club with a shot glass of Jack in one hand, content to watch the girl and her kiddy pals from a distance. At least, he's content for the first ten minutes or so, until the Slayer starts dancing a little faster, a little wilder, carefree and happy.

Spike drains his Jack and bites his lip, his eyes still magnetized to the girl. There's something about her that's so remarkably different from the two Slayers he's fought and killed, and the moment he figures it out, he slams his shot glass down at the table beside him and skulks out of the club.

A death-wish. This Slayer doesn't have one, even a hint. She's so full of life it almost burns him. And he could keep fighting her for a hundred years, but unless something changes he's never going to get his One Good Day with this girl. Like it or not, he has to bide his time, no matter how much the idea of dawdling grates on him.

Then maybe, if he's lucky, he'll get to dance with her.

* * *

September segues into October, and the Hellmouth has yet to deliver on its supposed power to restore his beloved. Spike senses the dark aura of the place, yet his dark goddess remains weak, reliant on him to bring prey to their factory lair for her sustenance or feed her with his own blood.

When he isn't caring for Drusilla, he's watching the Slayer. Vampires aren't exactly notorious for their patience, but for Spike, patience has its rare rewards, none better than those he's witnessed in the past month.

There's some hullabaloo about a cultural exchange program, something her mum forced her into, no doubt, and an Incan exhibit in Sunnydale's measly excuse for a museum. Word gets around about a kid being drained not just of blood, but of everything short of skin and bones, practically freeze-dried.

Then the following night, when he's wandering the streets looking for some lightweight to bring back half-conscious to his lover, Spike catches sight of a machete-wielding Peruvian making tracks away from the museum like hells on his heels. The night is young, so he follows in his car, no sound to disturb the darkness but the engine softly rumbling. The Peruvian man enters a residential area and stops at a two-story house, lights flickering in one upstairs windows. Spike pulls up along the curb and glances at the number.

1630 Revello Drive. The Slayer's house.

Something visceral, an anger that's purely reckless and primal and territorial – or perhaps, jealous? – coils through Spike. He yanks out the keys, steps out, and slams the door behind him. The stranger jumps, wheeling around in his hiding spot underneath the oak in the back yard.

"Dunno who you are, mate," Spike murmurs, folding his arms, "but if you're lookin' to snuff the pretty little blonde who lives here, better get in line."

"This does not concern you, demon," huffs the Peruvian, hefting his long knife but looking fairly unfazed.

"You're new in Sunnyhell," says Spike cooly, "so you must not have heard. I kill Slayers. It's my thing." _'Cept I don't have a thing, do I? Just Dru…_

"I am here for the chosen one, not this slayer of which you speak."

"Slayer _is_ the Chosen One, witless," Spike snorts. He digs his pack of smokes out of a pocket and pops a cig between his lips, lighting it with a tiny spurt of flame. "Missed the memo a couple'a thousand years ago? '_In every generation_' ring any bells? '_Vamps, demons, an' the forces of darkness_'? Half-pint blonde, good with stakes?"

The human's eyes narrow, and his posture straightens from a defensive crouch into a more at-ease stance.

"This is not the chosen one I wish to find. I seek the Inca princess, who was offered up to the mountain god Sebancaya, buried alive as an offering for eternity, five hundred years ago. She has escaped and is now draining the life from the innocent so she may go on living."

Spike's guts twist inexplicably again, and for one split-second, his gaze flits to the upper window, to where the Slayer must be sleeping mere feet away from this life-sucking princess.

_So much life in the Slayer, if she just reaches out and makes a swipe at it…_

"Oh." He stares back at the Peruvian. "Er, my mistake. Wrong girl. Carry on, then. Sooner the better."

To his surprise, the stranger smiles. "Do not fear, Slayer-killer. I do not believe the princess will harm those who dwell in this house. Though she must take life to sustain hers, she also yearns for the normal life that was taken from her when she was chosen. She will not strike those who treat her as friends."

This time, when Spike's sharp eyes find the window, they linger until the light within switches off.

"Normal life, eh?" he chuckles gravely. "Good luck findin' that here."

He gives the Peruvian swordsman a mocking half-bow, stubs his cigarette butt out with one heel, then turns around and heads for his car, his own princess awaiting him.

* * *

"Drusilla?"

Returning to the factory once his belly is sated with blood, Spike slips down to the basement to find his goddess, still dressed all in white, languishing on their bed.

"Dru? You a'right, my love?"

"Oh… my little dark prince has returned from the hunt," she smiles, extending one hand toward him. He takes her fingers and trails kisses across her knuckles, like a knight bowing before his queen. "Did my tomcat find himself a mouse? Make it squeak and wriggle when he pounced?"

"Yes, pet. More than one, as a point'a fact. Has my wicked girl been sleeping?"

"Yes, but I could not dream," Drusilla sighs, watching hungrily as he shucks his coat and boots. "The fairies all went away and took their songs. Tell me a story, pretty Spike."

"I shall, but only if you eat first," he says sweetly, baring his wrist. Her happy smile turns unearthly, her delicate features shifting to those of the demon within.

"Sweet, tasty Willy…"

He expects her to lift his hand to her pale lips, but instead she traces a fingertip down his throat, grips the collar of his t-shirt, pulls him down to his knees, and buries her fangs in his ivory neck with a fluttery moan of pleasure. He sways, gripping her elbows to stabilize himself as she taps his lifeblood, gulping eagerly.

"Thirsty, dearest?" Spike asks, growing worried when his legs start to tremble, his newly bolstered strength quickly draining.

"Mmm." Dru withdraws her teeth, her cold forehead pressing soothingly against his bite. "Must enjoy my nummy boy. Before he turns stale and dry. Like ashes."

"What?"

She leans back and holds a finger to her scarlet-splotched mouth, her eyes gleeful, almost impish. "Shh… mustn't spoil the surprise. No cakes until tea-time."

Rubbing a hand on his sore neck, Spike climbs up into their bed, exhausted but determined to deliver on his promised storytelling.

"Well, I s'pose I'll tell you a new one, 'bout the latest little nasty brewin' on the Hellmouth," he begins, settling back against the pillows and stroking Drusilla's hair as she wipes the stray drops of crimson from her lips and then nuzzles against his side. "Once, there was an Incan princess, who was very naughty, and didn't like bein' a mummy…"

* * *

_Author's notes: Happy New Year! Please review! I know it's mainly still set-up at this point, but I promise loads of angsty Spuffy are on their way, eventually. (:_


	4. Chapter 4: Bitter

**Enemy's Heartstrings**

_By AGriffinWriter_

Season 2 AU: After losing his soul in the night of passion with Buffy, Angelus brutally tortures wheelchair-bound Spike, who sees no alternative but to seek sanctuary with the Slayer and her pals. Coddling the heart-broken Big Bad isn't something that ever crossed Buffy's radar, but despite her resistance, feelings start to develop. M for graphic torture, violence, vampire smut, mild language.

**All direct quotes from ****_Buffy the Vampire Slayer_**** belong to their respective owners. For this fic, scenes and dialogue from season two are incorporated. However, this story is all mine.**

_Author's notes: Thank you Redglade, randyzoopurple, SeaPea, Jeremy Shane, Hercules8, DK, Spanderfan, and Star for reviewing!_

_Chapter notes: Covers the episode "Reptile Boy". There's some AU/headcanon background exposition set-up here, mainly showing Spike's resentment toward Angel/Angelus. Spike may come across too humane, but I think he's unique in that respect as far as vampires are concerned. "Lies My Parents Told Me" is a good example of his retained humanity, and so some of his characterization in this chapter comes from that._

* * *

Chapter 4: Bitter

Now that he's familiar with the route to the Slayer's house, he finds himself wandering down Revello Drive much more often than he knows he should. He always remains out of sight, of course, so much so that one night when the Slayer and her two best pals are holed up watching some atrocious Hindi television, he catches a few words of her conversation and quickly drops down from the tree so she can't hear him chuckling.

"_I, for one, am giddy and up. There's a kinda hush all over Sunnydale. No demons or vampires to slay. I'm here with my friends… So, how does the water buffalo fit in again?_"

"Bugger if I know," he grins, whispering under his breath as he fishes out a smoke.

But there's one vampire outside of Spike's cohort who remains firmly entrenched in Sunnydale and who never quite seems to get counted in the Slayer's quota… but certainly makes guest appearances in the girl's dreams. More than once Spike has toppled out of the tree and rushed away smoking furiously, his head full of girly little moans interspersed with Angel's name. When it happens three nights in a row, he's peeved enough that he stomps from her yard back to his car, purposefully honks the horn in hopes of interrupting her smutty slumbers, and drives away on squealing wheels, cursing his grandsire all the way back to the factory.

Back in the days of the Whirlwind, Angelus was always _afraid_ of slayers, using them as a threat – the thing monsters have nightmares about – so, naturally, Spike _sought them out_, following the chain of chosen ones until he finally faced Xin Rong at the turn of the century. Right up until he threw himself into that fight, his quest was solely to prove himself better than Angelus, the condescending, brutal deviant who bedded his princess and sodomized the younger vampire to his soulless heart's content. But… the moment Spike lunged into the fray against his first Slayer, all of that desire for revenge or superiority or anything to do with Angelus paled compared to the thrill of actually dueling this powerful girl. He cherished her sword-slash scar to his eyebrow as much as the prized leather duster he took from his second dead Slayer.

And now there's this new Slayer… this tiny blonde with bewitching green eyes… Buffy Summers. Spike knows it's his cup of perpetual torment that Dru has to keep carrying on about her precious Daddy all these years, but the thought that Angelus has now gotten his claws in this Slayer rankles in Spike on a vastly different level.

One night in early autumn, Spike strolls through a cemetery near the University of California Sunnydale campus, contemplating how to make fresh hell break loose on the Slayer and her cheerleader squad, when he catches the unmistakable scent of blood, faint but distinct. He halts, glances at the ground, and spots the glint of silver from what looks like a bracelet in the grass. Just as he steps towards it, a harsh voice makes him crouch into a fighting stance.

"What are you doing here, Spike?"

_Speak of the poofter devil an' he shall appear._

"Evenin', Angelus," Spike growls in return, muscles still coiled for a brawl.

"It's just Angel now."

"Still all remorseful, are you? Thought you'd got your evil back on in the forties, the whole twenty-thousand leagues under the sea business. Run afoul of another gypsy tribe, eh?"

"I never lost my soul. And you didn't answer my que–"

"Just havin' a walk. What, you own this town now? Gonna clap me in irons for loiterin'?"

Spike keeps his distance from the larger, older vampire, slowly circling the aisle between rows of tombstones, a space wide enough for a car to pass between. Angel scowls.

"Get out of Sunnydale, Spike. Take Drusilla and go. You're not going to hurt this Slayer."

Spike gives a churlish huff. "Right. 'Cause you've already got that front covered, eh?"

"What do you mean?" demands Angel, looking genuinely bewildered.

"You're after the Slayer. That's why you're here, in't it?"

"No… I'm here to protect her."

"Come off it! Girl's all moonstruck with you an' you're just here to _protect_ her? What next, coffee dates? One thing leadin' to another?"

"No. Buffy and I are not… no."

"You forget… I _know_ you, Angelus. Spent eighteen sorry years with you, watchin' you, learnin' from you. Learned just how much you can drink from a girl so she'd still cry when you…" He stops and swallows hard, disgusted by the things he'd done under Angelus's tutelage. "Always galled you, didn't it, that I never liked hurtin' the young ones quite as much as you did?"

"That's not who I am anymore," Angel replies coldly.

"Like hell," Spike sneers. "You can flaunt the puppy-dog routine 'till Hell freezes over, but I know it's a bloody act. Can't just fight the Slayer like a proper demon, oh no. You're doin' your whole mind-screwin' route."

A blend of regret and ire flits across Angel's face. "You're wrong, Spike. It's not like that between us."

"In't it? She your new masterpiece? You gonna destroy her head, like you did to my Dru?"

The taller vampire's face twitches irritably, and his voice grows increasingly scathing, rankled by the old wounds Spike's words have reopened.

"You're mighty quick to blame me for turning her, William, and yet you forget… you would never have _met_ our Drusilla if I hadn't _made_ her first."

"You didn't have to make her barmy!" Spike bellows, heedless of who might happen upon them and overhear. "You bloody ripped open her mind, playin' your soddin' games with her, made it so she can't ever see anyone but you."

Angel cocks his head, the barest hint of a grin on his mouth. "Oh… I get it. Yell the wrong name in bed again, did she?"

"You sod!"

Spike vamps – if nothing else but to fight off the tears that prick his eyes – and snarls at the demon who spent eighteen years trying to quash and beat and destroy every bit of good that had somehow remained in him when he turned. Angel barely even looks at him, his gaze focusing at the cemetery entrance.

"Get out of here, Spike."

"Make me!"

"I said, get the hell out of here!" Angel repeats, alarmed.

And then Spike smells _her_. The other two Slayers he'd fought had such earthy, grounded scents, like the smoking coals of a wood-fire banked by dirt… but not this girl. If the Chinese Slayer and her New York counterpart were coals, then this Slayer is the scent of dancing flames, a roaring inferno licking the night sky, sparks floating up to join with the stars…

_Damnit! Poncy poet doesn't know when to quit!_

"Fine. I'll leave you an' your honey alone, then, shall I?"

"I'm not dating Buffy, Spike. Just go."

Still in game-face, Spike takes a few steps back, inhaling the ever-increasing scent of the Slayer.

"Don't hurt m–the Slayer, Angelus!" he growls, barely catching himself from saying '_my Slayer_', as much as he wants to. Then he turns on his heel and bolts for the opposite end of the cemetery.

* * *

Vaguely wondering why the scent of another vampire lingers in the air here, Buffy pockets the feminine bracelet and smiles nervously at Angel. "I-I was… just thinking, wouldn't it be funny some time to see each other when it wasn't a blood thing."

He just stares, his look unreadable.

"Not funny, ha ha," Buffy mumbles.

"What are you saying, you want to have a _date_?"

Buffy blanches at the unexpected hostility in Angel's voice, an animosity that doesn't seem to be directed towards her. "Uh, who said 'date'? I-I-I never said 'date'."

"Right. You just want to have coffee or something."

"Coffee?" she asks hopefully.

"I knew this was going to happen."

"What? What do you think is happening?"

"You're sixteen years old. I'm two hundred and forty-one," Angel sighs, still sounding irritated at something beyond his exchange with Buffy.

"I've done the math," huffs Buffy, watching the dark-haired vampire pace the open area between the rows of headstones.

"You don't know what you're doing. You don't know what you want," he mutters at her, only increasing her vexation at feeling left out.

"Oh, no, I-I think I do. I want out of this conversation."

She starts to step past him, but he crosses to block her.

"Listen," he says urgently, "if we date, you and I both know one thing's going to lead to another."

"One thing already _has_ led to another," snaps Buffy, shocked by his bluntness. "You think it's a little late to be reading me a warning label?"

"I'm just trying to protect you!" Angel retorts, but his own words seem to madden him further. "This could get out of control."

"Isn't that the way it's supposed to be?" Buffy whispers, almost wistfully.

Angel's hands lock around her upper arms, and she gasps at his sudden pull, drawing her close to him.

"This isn't some fairy tale!" he growls right in her face, not panting as she is, but merely drawing in enough breath to force his frustration into words. "When I kiss you, you don't wake up from a deep sleep and live happily ever after!"

"No," Buffy says in a tremulous murmur, staring him down. "When you kiss me, I wanna die."

She tears herself away and rushes from the cemetery, wondering what on earth could have happened to make him so oddly hostile and what she could have done to deserve such a brush-off.

_I mean_, she thinks angrily as she races home, _he's going to live forever! He doesn't have time for a cup of coffee?_

_To be continued…_

* * *

_Author's notes: The next chapter will cover "Halloween" and thus contain the next actual Buffy-Spike encounter. And now I'd better work on "Five Words" before you attack me with pitchforks. ;)_


	5. Chapter 5: Chaos

**Enemy's Heartstrings**

_By AGriffinWriter_

Season 2 AU: After losing his soul in the night of passion with Buffy, Angelus brutally tortures wheelchair-bound Spike, who sees no alternative but to seek sanctuary with the Slayer and her pals. Coddling the heart-broken Big Bad isn't something that ever crossed Buffy's radar, but despite her resistance, feelings start to develop. M for graphic torture, violence, vampire smut, mild language.

**All direct quotes from ****_Buffy the Vampire Slayer_**** belong to their respective owners. For this fic, scenes and dialogue from season two are incorporated. However, this story is all mine.**

_Author's notes: Thank you Hercules8 (yes, I do plan to work in multiple Spike vs. Angel fights!) and Jeremy Shane for reviewing!_

_Chapter notes: Covers the episode "Halloween", but with some twists that start departing from canon. Warning: Spike/Dru fade-to-black._

* * *

Chapter 5: Chaos

The hunger is starting to get to him.

By the end of October, Spike admits to himself that he's running ragged trying to manage the remnant of the Aurelius clan, spy on the Slayer, _and _feed enough for two in a town this size. Sunnydale's meager population isn't large enough to support a gang of vampires as numerous as those who had gathered to follow the Master and then the Annoying One in his stead. In a place like Sunnydale, where all the neighbors are keen on everyone else's business, a noticeable death toll means more attention, and ever since the disaster in Prague, Spike's been determined to avoid pitchfork-wielding mobs if at all possible. Hence, his feeding strategy is catch-and-release, no new fledglings, no conspicuous murders.

He's done his best to threaten this message into all the minions he's inherited, but some days he just wishes he could shove the lot of them into the sunlight and have the town to himself and his princess alone. The only useful things the flunkies have managed to do is become his eyes and ears all over Sunnydale, enabling him to focus just on finding three or four victims a night and draining roughly a pint from each to sustain himself – and by extension Drusilla.

A raid of a small video equipment store downtown yields an even greater advantage for Slayer-watching, and Spike prides himself on this bit of genius he cooks up. Step 1, furnish one of the older, self-controlled minions with a handheld video camera. Step 2, send one of the doltish vamps out to fight the Slayer, and have the other one tape-record the fight. Result, knock off the no-account lout _and_ get footage of Buffy Summers fighting, so he can analyze her style and techniques.

"See that," he points out specific Slayer moves on the latest film reel to several vamps lounging around the factory's ground floor warehouse. "Rewind that. Let's see that again."

A surly minion rolls his eyes but clicks a few buttons, and Spike stalks around the rigged assembly of TV monitors, all displaying the blonde girl's fighting prowess. On the tape, Buffy yanks a sign post out of the pumpkin-strewn ground and stabs her attacker's chest with it, shattering him into dust.

"You all see that? That's what's called bein' _resourceful_. Rewind it again."

He concentrates, and now that he's memorized the gist of her routine, he narrows his study on specific elements. Her footwork… her dancing strikes… the lithe movements of her slender legs… the wisps of her flaxen hair that have pulled free of her updo… _damn, I could watch her dance all night…_

He deliberately drops his gaze from the video for a moment and paces more intensely, his gait suddenly stiff. _Where the hell did that come from? Not like I'm filmin' the Slayer for jollies. Not gonna get my rocks off from this… not THAT kind of film… It's a predator thing… only a predator thing… bloody hell, not THAT kind of predator! An' now I'm diggin' myself into a hole inside my own soddin' head._

"Miss Edith needs her tea," Drusilla whispers, airily gliding up from the stairs with one of her china dolls in her hands.

"C'mere, princess," Spike beckons to her, grateful for the distraction. Drusilla sets the doll on a nearby table and drifts over to him, entwining her spindly fingers in his.

"Do you love my insides?" she croons against the back of his neck. "The parts you can't see?"

"Eyeballs to entrails, my sweet," he grins. He turns her in a languid, ballroom-dancing spin until her back touches his chest and then puts his arms around her, his lips pressing twice to her temple before he nods at the video screens. "That's why I've got to study this Slayer. Once I know her, I can kill her. And once I kill her, you can have your run of Sunnyhell. Get strong again."

_And then maybe… you'll finally love me_…

"Don't worry," beams Dru, lazily rubbing her shoulders against the lapels of his duster. "Everything's switching. Outside to inside… It makes her weak."

_Weak? She thinks I can only beat a weakened Slayer now? That's a hell of a way to deflate a bloke's ego_.

"Really? Did my pet have a vision?" he asks, swallowing his punctured pride.

Instead of answering, she pulls free of his cradling arms and trails her razor-sharp nails along the table edge, a dreamy pout on her pale mouth.

"You know what I miss?... Leeches."

Spike smirks. _Never stops amazin' me, this girl…_

"Come on, talk to your little boy," he pleads, reaching for her hands once again, drawing her palms to his chest. "This thing that makes the Slayer weak? When is it?"

"Tomorrow."

His brows twitch. "Tomorrow's Halloween. Nothin' happens on Halloween."

"Someone's come to change it all," she whispers secretively. "Someone new. Chaos… beautiful chaos… like bees… pots and pans and merry cymbals in my head…"

Spike sighs, twining his fingers through his beloved's raven tresses. _That's my Dru… clairvoyant one moment, mad as a March hare the next._

"Long time 'till tomorrow, baby…" he murmurs, one hand sweeping up to press against her lower back, holding her to him. "Come down an' have a nice rest, eh? You haven't had your supper either…"

"My insides are hungry, William," she mutters with a petulant frown.

"Mmm. I can sort that out for you, luv..."

Like the night when they'd first entered the factory, she skims one fingernail down his cheek, pricks the skin just above his sculpted cheekbone, and licks away the drop of scarlet that slithers toward his jawline. Spike's eyes flutter closed at the feel of her satin tongue.

"Darling…"

"Shh… if you're a very good boy, mummy will give you a treat…"

"_Good_? Ah… but wouldn't you rather have me be _wicked_?"

With a scoop of his powerful shoulders, she's caught in his arms, borne like the princess she is. He strides toward their well-travelled staircase, Drusilla giggling and nibbling at his ear all the way to their bed…

* * *

"Now! Kill her! You will miss the show and all the pixies will laugh at me!"

Drusilla's thrashing hand slaps across his naked chest, and Spike jolts awake, only half-aware of the words she'd shouted.

"Wha' the bloody… Dru? Princess, what's'a matter?"

He partially sits up, momentarily wishing he'd thought to install a clock somewhere in their basement lodgings. His instincts tell him it's around sundown – several hours after he'd fed and worshiped his princess and then fallen asleep curled around her porcelain form – and yet he barely feels rested at all.

"It's time! My knight must find the bad princess and send her away!"

"Talkin' 'bout the Slayer, baby?" Spike blinks groggily. "Right now, pet? You're sure?"

She gives him an exasperated look. "Yes, the Slayer! Always the Slayer! She will bring blackness upon us! You must go now! Before she is strong again!"

"A'right, luv, a'right. I'm goin'." Rushing to appease her, he pushes away the blankets and fumbles for his clothes. Drusilla holds her head, swaying fretfully, fingers tangling up in her sleep-mussed hair.

"The masks… transform into flesh and blood… curdled hearts… Chaos takes the night…"

"What's all this 'bout chaos?" asks Spike, now half-dressed. "Remember you sayin' that earlier."

"No!" she pouts again, pulling at her own hair in her distress. "No questions! It's time for the show, Spike! You must go find her! Ghosts and soldiers and pretty girls dressed for the killing! Kill the Slayer for me, Spike!"

"A'right, Dru. I'll do it. I'll find 'er and drain 'er dry."

He shoves his feet into his boots one at a time, knots the laces, and grabs his duster off the back of a chair. Rushing for the door, he pauses only for a split second, wondering if she would berate him for murmuring some sweet nothings before he left, some promise to "_be back 'fore sunup_", or that he'd be careful in his tussle against the Slayer. But Drusilla keens frantically, her eyes glazed over with visions of pixies and chaos.

"Love you, pet," he blurts out, opening the heavy door, making the hinges squeal. If she mutters or chides him as he slips out to the stairs, he doesn't hear it. He forces his arms into the sleeves of his leather coat, turns down the collar, and dons his demonic face on his way out of the factory.

"Halloween," Spike mutters irritably, stomping down a side street, a memorized shortcut to the Slayer's neighborhood, where he plans to pick up her scent. "Had to happen on bloody Halloween, when all the little snack-sized whelps have to… dress up like… monsters…"

He stops smack-dab in the middle of the street and watches as a growling demon – who can't be more than three feet tall – chases a screaming couple across a lawn. He glances at the other side of the curb, where several other miniature cretins are vandalizing a car, jumping on the hood and growling in slightly squeaky voices. Closer to him, a tiny vampire boy – with _actual_ bony facial ridges, not the mere white face paint and plastic fangs of a costume – kicks at a mailbox and yowls hungrily.

"Well…" Spike smirks, anchoring his hands on his waist as he observes the rightly prophesied chaos. "This is just… neat!"

There's a flash of color on his far left, and his head immediately turns toward it, the scent of the Slayer faint but unmistakable. It's her… but decked out in a garish rose-pink dress and a disheveled brunette wig that doesn't suit her.

"Well, now… what're you s'posed to be, little Slayer?" he murmurs, watching her rush into an alley where the residential area meets a more urbanized part of town. Just as he moves to follow her, hurried footsteps from the other end of this street catch his ears, and he ducks behind a tree as three running figures approach. One is the hated, brooding ponce, and the other two look to be schoolmates of the Slayer, a deep expression of anxiety pervading all three faces.

"Are you sure she came this way?" the brown-haired, gun-toting boy demands of Angel.

"No!"

"She'll be okay," replies the girl in the cat-suit.

"_Buffy _would be okay, but she remembers nothing!" Angel nearly growls as the trio passes right by Spike's hiding place. "Whoever she is now, she's helpless."

They continue at an even faster pace, and Spike waits until they're a good twenty feet ahead of him before he steps out from behind the tree. He exhales tensely, retracts his fangs and facial ridges, and races for the adjoining alleyway, hoping to cut off the Slayer before she gets too far.

_This isn't right_, his head screams as he runs, coat billowing out in his wake. _Weakenin' the Slayer is one thing; makin' her amnesiac an' helpless is another entirely._

"No… N-no…"

A frightened feminine whimper cuts into him like an ice shard. Vaulting a waist-high stack of crates, Spike whips around the side of the building and spots the Slayer shakily struggling to her feet, impeded by the vivid pink Colonial get-up. A costumed pirate bears down on her and shoves her against the alley wall, its greasy hand daring to slide along her cheek.

Spike's blood boils. Barely maintaining his human face, he charges to the pair and rips the pirate off Buffy Summers, sending him catapulting into the opposite alley wall.

"Can't have you touchin' the lady, mate," he growls, turning his back on the Slayer without the slightest fear. "Better scoot off, 'fore I decide you weren't properly warned. Savvy?"

Grunting inarticulately, the pirate boy tears off down the alley toward the residential side of the passage, and Spike grins with the hope that the nasty git will run into his grandsire and slow him down. Contented that the thug has no intention of retaliating, Spike faces Buffy, his eyes quickly tracing over her for signs of injury or violation.

"Are you a'right, Slay–… miss?"

"Y-yes!" gasps the girl with the Slayer's face and signature scent, but none of her strength. "I… I cannot possibly thank you enough for your kindness."

_Cripes, this night is the height of weird. Slayer callin' me kind… thankin' me_.

"It was no trouble, milady," he replies, his voice softening into a cadence he hasn't used in a century, the gentleman-poet's voice. "I… I just saw you running. Seemed frightened of something… or someone."

She nods tremulously. "You may not believe me. I can scarcely believe it myself. But I saw… I saw a real _vampire_."

Spike has to bite the side of his cheek to stop from grinning. "I certainly believe you…" He glances past her for just one moment, long enough to see Angel and his two teenage sidekicks pausing at the apex of their alley. "…Because here comes the vamp himself."

Buffy joins him in staring and instantly squeaks in fear at the sight of Angel.

"That's him!" Her hands clutch his duster, and a shiver flickers across his skin at her touch. "Oh please! Where can we go?"

"Better get inside, an open warehouse, somethin'."

Urgency slurs his voice to his familiar lowbrow accent, and without thinking Spike sweeps the Slayer up in his arms and carries her further down the alley. The girl's arms immediately knot around his neck, entirely trusting. A smirk twitches his lips at the faint cry of Angel's shock, and Spike walks with a quick, decisive pace until he finds an open door from the side street. Still holding Buffy, he kicks the door in and strides inside a small abandoned storage room.

"Gotta put you down now, luv, so I can pile stuff up 'round the door an' keep us safe."

With a nod from the memory-wiped Slayer, Spike sets her down on a sturdy box and wheels back around to slam the door seconds before he hears Angel's body crash into the thin steel barrier.

"Let her go, Spike!" the older vampire's voice snarls. "I swear to God–"

Not bothering to hide his gloating leer anymore, Spike piles a few crates and barrels in front of the door, steps back to admire the shoddy job, and then turns around for a glance at the Slayer.

"Dunno how long that'll hold 'em. Determined sort of bloke."

Buffy trembles, her emerald eyes glistening with tears of fear at the thought of the monster barely barricaded out of the warehouse.

"Look at you," Spike murmurs, his gaze and voice softening once more. "Shaking… terrified… alone. Lost little lamb."

_And I hate it. Never would have asked for this. Slayer's not supposed to go out this way…_ _not this girl._

"C-can you not stop them?" she whimpers, her hands knotting together above the low neckline of her faux-historic dress, her corset pushing up her cleavage to full advantage.

Spike swallows, internally cursing the untimely southward flow of his blood, but his mouth continues watering as his eyes scan over her neck – torn between the desire to sink his teeth in that tanned throat, and the lustful urge to bury his face in her gorgeous golden breasts. _For God's sake, keep it together, mate! She's a half-grown girl, an' you're already damned enough without turnin' into a lecherous sod at the sight of the Slayer's goodies. Got a ripe plum waitin' for you, so quit makin' eyes at the unsullied lil' cherry._

But the poet entombed deep inside the vampire refuses to let this opportunity slide by without putting in a few words.

"They'd dust me for sayin' it… but you're a beautiful gem, Slayer. Right ray of sunshine."

Her heart-shaped face contracts in a pout. "I… I d-do not understand. 'Dust you'. 'Slayer'. I-I'm sorry…"

"No worries. Jus' pro'ly never have another chance to say it without you kickin' me in the head."

She only looks more confused, and continually fearful at the hammering sounds that beat upon the door. "But… a proper lady would never kick a gentleman like you."

"Oh… I'm far from a gentleman, darlin'. Haven't been for a long time."

As he steps toward Buffy with mixed hesitation, Dru's frantic voice seems to echo in his head, his keening princess, crying in desperation. "_She will bring blackness upon us… You must kill the Slayer… You will taste of ashes_…"

Buffy's mouth opens in a slight gasp as Spike halts beside the crate where he situated her, his blue eyes much colder than before.

"What… what are you doing?"

_Oh, there's the fear_. It coats her scent like a sudden expensive perfume in the air, a perfect complement to the fiery floral blend he attributes to her.

"Close your eyes for me, pet."

Not waiting for her to obey, he anchors his left hand in her unnaturally dark locks and pulls her close, shifting his face the moment his countenance is against her cheek, hiding his distorted features from her line of vision. His closed lips make a lazy circuit of her throat, his vampiric snarl hiding his inner guilt – that he has to resort to this, that a Slayer as bloody amazing as this girl should die without a proper fight.

"Sir… sir, you sound… different…"

_Oh, bloody hell, now she's callin' me 'sir', all sweet-like_. Spike braces a knee against the crate to stop himself from yanking her against his lap and grinding his erection into her. Instead, he lifts his other hand to her shoulder, stopping when his thumb can just barely trace her collarbone.

"Don't wanna hurt you, pet," he murmurs, his cold breath sending goosebumps across the exposed skin of her throat. "But I've got to. Promised my love that I'd do it."

_SMASH!_

Spike turns halfway toward the clatters as Angel and the human children finally break through the door, and as he twists, the brunette wig comes away in his hand. Buffy sits up sharply, a grin on her lips and her golden mane swishing just off her shoulders. Determined green eyes meet the shrouded yellow.

"Hi honey. I'm home."

_To be continued…_

* * *

_Author's notes: The next chapter will cover the end of this scene, its aftermath, and as far into "Lie to Me" as a reasonable word-count gets me. Thank you all for your reviews! I also just joined Elysian Fields under the same pseudonym, so if you prefer reading Spuffy fanfics on that site I plan on editing my works and adding them there as time permits._


	6. Chapter 6: Forgotten

**Enemy's Heartstrings**

_By AGriffinWriter_

Season 2 AU: After losing his soul in the night of passion with Buffy, Angelus brutally tortures wheelchair-bound Spike, who sees no alternative but to seek sanctuary with the Slayer and her pals. Coddling the heart-broken Big Bad isn't something that ever crossed Buffy's radar, but despite her resistance, feelings start to develop. M for graphic torture, violence, vampire smut, mild language.

**All direct quotes from ****_Buffy the Vampire Slayer_**** belong to their respective owners. For this fic, scenes and dialogue from season two are incorporated. However, this story is all mine.**

_Author's notes: Thank you Jeremy Shane, kse93, Hercules8, juggling, BeneficialAddiction, Mirandaannw, Ellierose101, and Jhiz for reviewing! And sorry to those following this story if you got a false-alarm update; I was just fixing typos in Chapter 5, and I'm not sure if it sends out an email when I do that._

_Chapter notes: Covers the end of "Halloween" into "Lie to Me". Obligatory warning that Buffy still has the hots for Angel (the broody ponce) and poor Spikey is still devoted to his dark mistress. Also, Dru is kinky. Nothing explicit._

* * *

Chapter 6: Forgotten

_"Hi honey. I'm home."_

Spike tries to step back in time, but the Slayer's rejuvenated fists move faster, catching him in the ribcage and then twice in the face.

"There's my Slayer," he smirks, rubbing the new bruise to his chin, circling her until she's between him and the newcomers – Angel scowling fiercely, the high-schoolers watching with wide eyes. "Yeah, that's more like it, luv. C'mon…"

Buffy glares, but there's no denying the spark in her eyes, the quickening pumping of her blood, thrilled to be fighting Spike again. She snatches up a straight length of pipe from the floor, spins it like a quarterstaff, and then plows it straight into the vampire's gut. He doubles over, mentally cursing himself, knowing if he'd had any brains he would've just offed her when he'd had the chance. _But damn, I would've missed this spitfire, no bloody point in denyin' it… Guess bein' all defenseless for a few hours worked up a lot of pent-up ire in the little bint. Good thing I'm a soddin' glutton for punishment._

"You know what? It's good to be me," quips Buffy, twirling the pipe segment again. Before Spike can recover and duck out of range, she lowers the tip of the pipe and then brings it straight into his chin with an uppercut motion, knocking him onto his back on the crate he'd set her on mere moments ago. Demon face contorting in pain, he slides to the ground, at least one clean break in his jawbone.

"Finish him!" Angel shouts.

It's the malice in his voice that surprises Buffy, her head turning sharply to face her sort-of-boyfriend. Knowing he won't get another chance to escape, Spike takes off running, ripping through a weak spot in the shoddy tin siding of the warehouse. Buffy lets her makeshift weapon _clang_ on the floor, staring contemplatively at the spot in the building's wall where the blond vampire had vanished.

"Hey, Buff!" Xander cheers. "Welcome back!"

"Yeah…" she murmurs without turning around, "you too."

"You guys remember what happened?" demands Cordelia.

"It was way creepy," Xander confirms. "It's like I was _there_ but I couldn't get out."

"Yeah, I know the feeling. This outfit's totally skin-tight."

Angel moves between the clutter and approaches Buffy, who remains gazing at the new hole in the wall. Her mind races over the last few minutes of her blurred non-Slayer moments – the attack by the stupid pirate whom she could have easily squashed like a gnat, the man in black who had immediately stepped in to defend her, the undeniable tinglies she'd felt at the sound of his soothing, accented voice, and then the flood of terror as he'd held her against him and shamefully admitted that his love had ordered him to hurt her… as though his sense of honor and dignity had prohibited him from fighting her when she was helpless.

_And the whole time it was SPIKE_, she seethes silently. _Stupid bleached butt-head with his show-off coat and his swagger and his eyes… big blue pools… eyes that nothing without a soul should be allowed to have…_

"Are you okay?" Angel suddenly asks, breaking into her thoughts.

"Oh…" Buffy draws her gaze away from her enemy's escape route, to the vampire whom her costume-self had been absolutely terrified of. Now, of course, he's back to his tall, hunky self, and her plan for the evening – concerning major Angel-kissage without her mom in the house – fills her brain again. "Yeah, I'm fine."

Hand in hand, they head out of the warehouse, with Cordelia complaining to Xander right behind them.

* * *

From the moment that he takes off running, Spike knows he's in trouble. Drusilla had been so adamant, so convinced that tonight was his best chance of killing the Slayer and averting whatever calamity the pixies had instilled in her head. But he had failed… and now he must lay himself bare before her fury.

He slinks back into the factory, one hand cradling his now human but definitely still broken jaw. The main floor is noisy, with little huddles of minions playing poker at card tables or fiddling with the TV system, remaining inside on this night of irritation to all things supernatural. They all ignore Spike, who immediately senses Drusilla is not among them, so he shuffles to the stairs and down to the basement.

"Pet?" he whispers, gently easing open the door to their suite. "Dru?"

The room is pitch black, so dark that when he shuts the door he can't even catch glints of reflection off the glass eyes of the numerous porcelain dolls lined along the furniture.

"Drusilla, baby, you're scarin' me…"

"You didn't do as you were told." Her voice comes out in a scoff from the darkness, from somewhere near the bed, but he's uncertain exactly where. "You couldn't kill her."

The distain in her voice is the worst part of the torment he knows is coming, and his injured jaw trembles as he slowly tugs off his duster.

"Dru… I-I'm sorry, luv, but I'll have another go. Even the odds next time. Girl doesn't have nine lives, after all. Sooner or later, I'll –"

She spits and hisses like a cat, and now that his vampire eyes have adjusted to the ebony room he can see the outline of her form, reclining against one of the posts at the foot of the bed, spite in her gaze.

"Dru…"

"You lie! You're a bad, _bad_ little boy. Mummy needs to hurt you so you don't do it again."

Her words are a whip-crack, a swift strike to his heart, and he knows he's going to pay for his failure with his body… for hours and hours… possibly days… until the sadism instilled deeply in her by Angelus is contented.

Silently, mentally preparing himself for what might await him, Spike drops his red silk shirt on top of his duster, then grabs his t-shirt at the back of his neck and tugs it off. Closing his eyes, he kneels and clasps his hands together behind his back.

"You're right," he murmurs to the ground at her feet. "I… I've been bad, my princess. Punish me."

* * *

…Four days later…

He waits in darkness so deep even his vampire eyes can't penetrate it. Waits… because though he could easy snap the handcuffs she'd secured around his wrists and escape from his uncomfortable seated position against one of the bedposts, he'd only be earning himself more of her wrath. Drusilla had shackled him there, unbuttoned his jeans, and just when he had expected gouging nails or drops of searing holy water or candle wax – or any other game his dark goddess could conjure up to delight herself and sweetly torment him – she'd just left, trapping him in silence. Nothing. Hadn't even touched him.

For all he knew, she'd left him here to starve.

The longest one of these 'punishment sessions' had endured for three weeks, but that had been with Angelus coaching her every move, whispering every tormenting thing she should do to her naughty little dog. Since they'd split with the other members of the Whirlwind, she'd never gone more than two days straight without his care… and though he aches all over from sitting so still, his chief thoughts are of her, worrying. Master Vampire though Drusilla is… she's unstable, capricious, sometimes not fully aware of her surroundings… and if one of the fledges got just a bit too annoyed by her behavior…

The door creaks, and his princess appears, a tiny candlestick in one hand. Spike gasps, but stops himself from breathing her name.

Her head tilts to one side, as though she's perplexed to find him like this… as if she'd forgotten how she'd walked out him, like he was some necklace or hairpin she'd misplaced.

"Spike… what are you doing?"

He swallows stiffly. _Oh god, she DID forget 'bout me…_

"I… was jus' hopin' you'd come back to me, princess," he utters huskily, working around the parched texture of his throat. "'Cause…" he swallows again and soldiers on, feeling compelled to remind her, "'cause I was your bad boy an' you had to punish me."

With her brows still drawn in a puzzled look, she wordlessly sets the candle on one of the doll-bedecked dressers, withdraws the key to the handcuffs from her bodice, and fiddles with his wrists until the lock clicks open. Spike lowers his strained arms to his sides, and she sits on the floor next to him, tucking her skirt primly over her ankles.

"Drusilla… my lovely one, what's'a matter?"

"William…" she whimpers, a little pout on her lips. "I'm hungry."

"Did the boys not feed you?" he asks tenderly, tucking a dark curl behind her ear. The motion allows the candlelight to flicker across his wrist, highlighting the rosy bruised mark of the handcuffs.

"No," she mumbles, flecks of water sparkling like diamonds in her eyes, looking every bit the innocent girl she must have been when Angelus took her and destroyed her.

"Soddin' blighters. Here, baby. Here's a willing treat for you."

He inclines his head away from her, further exposing the hollow of his alabaster throat. She slithers into his lap, laves the spot with her tongue until he shudders, and then sinks her slender fangs deep into him, suckling and pulling. He braces one hand on the floor to stay seated upright, already weakened from his days of solitary confinement.

When she finishes her meal, Drusilla licks the weeping punctures closed and rests her head against his shoulder, her fingertips playing idly against his taut chest muscles.

"Are you sure you've had enough, kitten?" he whispers, blinking desperately to fight his exhaustion.

Her head nods, soft raven tresses tickling his bare skin. "I tried to catch a little boy… a littler boy than my Willy… a little lamb caught in the blackberry patch…"

"You went _hunting_?" he gasps, quickly wrapping both arms around her in an embrace. "Darling, you shouldn't be wanderin' about. You're weak. Could've run into trouble."

"My tummy was growly, and you were hiding down here."

Spike bites his lip and hides his face against her hair. _Bloody forgot all 'bout me, an' she could very well have wandered out an' gotten herself staked by the bleedin' Slayer an' I wouldn't have known a soddin' thing._

"So, did you catch the boy, my lioness?"

"Nearly… but Daddy came and frightened him away."

"Did he now?" mutters Spike. "Didn't hurt you, did he?"

"No… he can't. Not anymore."

Spike strokes her back gently, pretending the obvious longing in her voice doesn't bother him as much as it truly does.

"His heart stinks of her," Drusilla continues, a trace of hissing in her tone again. "The girl. The Slayer." Much to his surprise, she sighs in a pitying sort of way. "Poor little thing. She has no idea what's in store."

"But you do. Got all those whisperin' pixies tellin' you all the fun to be had."

She nods, her pouting lips pressing to the freshly sealed wound in his neck, and then squirms in his lap to make herself more comfortable.

"I want to be well again," she says sullenly, her fingernails still dragging up and down his chest. "Why can't you make me well, Spike? You promised."

"I'm tryin', baby. Doin' all I can."

She makes a little _tsk_ noise, tongue clicking reproachfully, and her head swivels to make eye contact with her favorite china doll.

"Miss Edith whispers that you do not love your princess anymore."

"Well, she's a lyin' rag dolly who knows nothin'," Spike scoffs, cradling Dru against his chest. "I love my princess, now an' always. You'll see. I'm gonna beat this Slayer, luv. One way or 'nother."

_To be continued…_


End file.
